One evening, when Lucky and I were supposed to be heading out on theNarwhalto practice my backstroke, or some kind of more salacious stroke, I find him in the boatyard with his father, working late on a last-minute engine problem for a customer.
“Sorry,” he tells me. “They’re paying us overtime rates, and it’s the kind of favor that my dad can’t turn down. Shouldn’t take more than an hour but might be too close to dark for us to take the boat out. Maybe we could stay in? Order pizza? Watch a movie on TV? My house is overrun with toddler cousins at the moment. What about yours?”
“Evie’s home. My mom’s, uh … out. But she might come back by the time you’re done.” I squint at him. “Would that be okay? Or too weird?”
“I’m fine with it, if she is.”
Mom’s definitely warming up to him, and he’s been in and out of the Nook. But he’s never been inside our apartment. I think she’d be cool with it.
Lucky in our apartment. Whoa. I’m a little fluttery just thinking about it. Another first for us. It’s one thing for us to be on our own private boat together, but in public, around other people … that’s new territory.Goodterritory. It’s just new. And exciting.
“I’ll double-check to make sure it’s all okay,” I tell him. “But I’m pretty sure it is. Just text me when you’re done?”
He checks to make sure no one’s watching and quickly kisses my forehead, holding oil-stained hands away from my shirt. “Sounds like a plan. Mushrooms and olives on my side, by the way. No cheese.”
“That’s not even pizza anymore,” I say, making a face.
“If they have clams—”
“NO.”
He grins. “See you in an hour.”
I cross back over to the Nook and head around back, up the steps, and into our apartment. Looks clean. Okay. At least I don’t have to freak out about that. I text Mom but when she doesn’t reply right away, I’m not surprised. Hopefully she’ll see it before he comes over.
Heading through the living room past our 1950s pinup girl lamp, I make a beeline to Evie’s room and knock briefly on her door. I know she’s there, because the sounds of grungy 1980s post-punk music rattle the walls. She’s probably studying for class and can’t hear me, so I knock louder and then crack open the door and stick my head through.
“Hey,” I shout over the music.
Then I freeze.
Evie’s there, all right. She’s not alone.
A dark head of hair rises from the covers like a mermaid from the water, and for a moment, there’s a jumble of limbs, and I’m seeingwaymore of my cousin’s skin than I want to see. But whenI blink, most of that skin is quickly covered up with a quilt, and a face I never wanted to see again is staring back at me.
Adrian Summers.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
Evie looks at me.
What do I do now? I know I shouldn’t be here, but it’s too late. They’re both staring at me in horror. And I’m staring back. It’s all super uncomfortable, and the music’s still blasting like it doesn’t realize that it’s underscoring a really awkward moment for all of us.
Oh, Evie. Cuz.
Whyyyyyyy?
She blinks at me with big eyes that say:I couldn’t help it. ’Twas the Saint-Martin curse!
And I glare back at her with narrowed eyes that say:All the disappointment.
Adrian’s crutches are propped up against her bed. Some dark part of me would like to race over to them, snatch them up, and beat him over the head with them until he’s got a concussion. But of course, I can’t do that.
Too late to pretend I haven’t seen this. What do I do here?
WHAT DO I DO? My thoughts race and tumble. It’s Adrian.
